Babtoo and the Legend of the Spotted Zebra

By Kevin Reilly and J. D. Kibler

The story revolves around a young native boy named Babtoo, who as a child suffered a devastating injury. The wound never properly heals and becomes a major disability. This is an issue as he comes of age in the Watinkee Tribe. He stumbles upon a horse and together they overcome obstacles and challenges to save his tribe from certain demise. He comes to realize the disability has not made him any less of a warrior than even the bravest member of his tribe. Through his honesty, loyalty and courage, the tribe hails him a hero for his great deeds. The Watinkee people also come to realize an important lesson: everybody has strengths, often unseen.

• Language: English
• Publisher: AuthorHouse
• Release date: Oct 18, 2013
• ISBN: 9781491824993

Kevin Reilly

Jeff was born in the then booming military town of Fayetteville, North Carolina in 1959. From there, he moved to Pennsylvania, where his father tried his hand at dairy farming. After a few years, he moved to Cleveland, Ohio where he spent a lot of time delving into fiction and fantasy stories. Even as a young man, Jeff was an avid reader Many times on beautiful summer days, he would be found reading books of exotic adventures and fantastic places. Each description would propel him to new heights in imagination. In the fantastic worlds he visited, often times the hero was also a villian or the coward turned hero. Worlds where magic was alive and anything was possible inspired him to create his own world of wonder.

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© 2013 J. D. Kibler. All rights reserved.

No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted by any means without the written permission of the author.

Published by AuthorHouse 10/17/2013

ISBN: 978-1-4918-2500-6 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-4918-2498-6 (hc)

ISBN: 978-1-4918-2499-3 (e)

Library of Congress Control Number: 2013917998

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Contents

Prologue

Chapter 1 The Drought

Chapter 2 The Perfect Storm

Chapter 3 Babtoo

Chapter 4 The Gift From The Sea

Chapter 5 Chintook The Lion Master

Chapter 6 The Chase

Chapter 7 Ettar The Mautuk

Chapter 8 Squanto, The Mautuk Leader

Chapter 9 Homeward Bound

Chapter 10 Squanto’s Journey

Chapter 11 The Welcoming Party

Chapter 12 Monbeem

Chapter 13 The Journey

Chapter 14 Casteel

Chapter 15 The Plan

Chapter 16 The Mautuk Village

Chapter 17 Return For Slaves

Chapter 18 The Capture

Chapter 19 The Rescue

Chapter 20 Hohumph’s Last Act

Chapter 21 Failure

Chapter 22 Returning Home A Hero

Chapter 23 The War

Chapter 24 The Savanna Has Many Dangers

Chapter 25 Battle Preparations

Chapter 26 The Final Outcome

Chapter 27 Marriage Proposal

Chapter 28 Babtoo’s Totem

Prologue

A long, long, time ago in the outer fringes of the African grasslands, lived a small tribe of tall, nut-brown people called the Watinkees. The Watinkees were a proud and peaceful nomadic tribe, following the herds of zebra, giraffe, wildebeest and gazelle as they migrated across the plains.

Living on the grasslands was often harsh and dangerous for the Watinkees. Predators like lions, spotted panthers and hyenas, which followed the herds, often stalked the tribe and preyed on any unsuspecting tribesmen. In spring, sudden, violent storms produced swift waters that often raced through the camp, washing out their temporarily erected tents causing chaos among the tribe. In the summer months, the sun would be so hot that waves of heat would sweep the land, drying up and shrinking the life-giving watering holes leaving huge cavernous cracks in the thirsty earth.

The life of one member of a Watinkee tribe probably would have never changed had it not been for one such sudden and particularly violent storm arriving at the coast of Africa near one of the tribe’s hunting camps.

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The story begins with the worst drought in fifty years. The once succulent grass had slowly lost all color, turning from a pale green to a crisp brown. Village crops dried out and withered to blackened husks. They stood as scorched reminders of past famine and hardship instead of becoming plentiful harvests. Foraging for nuts, berries and roots became increasingly difficult. Dust filled the air, choking all color from the horizon and leaving a hazy mirage of the once picturesque landscape. Small tree leaves hung withered and limp, rustling listlessly in the stagnant air.

Only the strong, leafy domes of the giant Baobab trees, with their deep penetrating roots, were still green and able to withstand the oppressive heat, which gave some shady refuge to weary animals and natives. Like a mother welcoming home orphans, the large branches became home to prey and predator alike.

The drought had taken its toll on the Watinkee tribesmen. Food and water became scarce as they and other nomadic tribes moved even more frequently to provide for their clans. Many of the old and very young had already perished. The remaining people struggled desperately to sustain themselves on the open savanna, praying for relief and rain. The fight for survival was particularly devastating for a young warrior with his wife and child.

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A fat termite on the well-worn path to the once majestic monkey-bread tree suddenly stopped, waving its antennae in a whirl of motion as if sensing impending doom. With a shake of its blind head, it hurried along with the rest of the colony to its home inside the tree.

The ancient monkey-bread tree stood as a lone sentinel in the middle of a desolate petrified forest. A century ago, it had been alive with life and home to generations of birds, butterflies, and monkeys. It had provided shelter to countless herds of antelope, gazelle, and the occasional tribesmen.

Today, the tree was only a shell of the majesty and beauty it had once been. The bark had long since peeled off, exposing long used highways for termites and other insects. The old tree’s limbs were crooked and bent, rising toward the sky in a silent prayer for rain. At the base of the tree, scattered like small children, dry saplings also struggled for life in the drought. As if in answer to the prayer, black clouds were forming across the heat-oppressed plains, blocking out the stifling heat of the day.

Thunder rumbled in dark clouds that rolled swiftly across the sky, anxious to release their pent up power. Tentacles of lightening snaked through the evening sky, revealing the moving silhouettes of animals desperately searching for shelter from the impending storm. The jagged flashes of light in the darkening sky seemed to search for unwary targets, constantly probing the earth.

A lone branch on the monkey-bread tree seemingly reached out and grabbed at an elusive bolt of lightning. Electricity crackled and charged the air as the limb exploded, sounding as if a thousand thundering drums were beating at once. Sparks flew from the branch and ignited the dry kindling and saplings around the tree. The once proud tree became a funeral pyre as its branches waved in the air frantically. Smoke and ash filled the sky as the fire burned everything it touched and spread quickly into the savanna.

Thick black smoke rolled ahead of the raging fire, sometimes shifting directions at a moment’s notice or the slightest change in wind direction. Animals scattered, not knowing how to escape the tongues of living flame. Desperately trying to outrun the intense heat of the blaze, gazelles and wildebeests ran with their mortal enemies the lions, hyenas, and cheetahs.

Already fighting nearly impossible odds, many of the savanna tribes faced certain demise. The all-encompassing inferno gave little clue as to where they could safely hide. Scattering into the night, people separated and became lost from one another in the ensuing chaos.

Darkness covered the sky as the heavy rain-filled clouds blotted out the sun, turning the oppressive heat of the day into a choking humid night. Thunder rumbled like a huge hungry belly as the clouds suddenly burst, releasing torrents of rain.

The flames battled the thunderstorm and like two titans fought for supremacy over the savanna. The resounding thunder competed with the roar of the blaze as the clash for dominance raged on. After what seemed like days, but was actually only a matter of a few hours, the rain finally subdued the fire. Small sheltered areas hidden from the storm contained embers that sent out envoys of blackened cinders that sizzled and popped, only to fall back to the damp earth, smothered and quiet.

The following morning the sun struggled to chase the remnants of the storm away. As it slowly rose above the horizon, it burned away the remaining black clouds revealing the devastation left by the rampaging fire. Pockets of steam and smoke rose like wraiths in the air, only to disappear as the sun quickly dried all remaining moisture from the soil. Blackened husks of what once were proud animals that had been just a step too slow, lay in poses of heartbreaking death.

The once picturesque landscape, now a barren desert, held the shocked remains of people and animals struggling to survive the devastation. Dusk finally cooled the savanna as the sun’s rays lost their fury for the day, bringing some relief. Stars were beginning to appear like bright jewels on the empty canvas of the sky and for a moment, brought hope for the future. Then, as if in mockery to the struggles below, thin wispy clouds scuttled across the night sky, draping the moon and stars in a mosaic pattern of light and dark. Moments of hope faded when the light gave way to darkness, giving the savanna an eerie, forlorn feeling of despair.

The scattered moonlight gave barely enough illumination for the retreating man and woman to see as they wearily made their way across the plain. The woman stumbled and struggled to keep her balance as she clutched a small child in her arms. The child, unaware of their plight, cooed softly in his mother’s embrace.

The tall dark man, accompanied by the young woman with unusually white hair, helped her to move forward, gently taking her arm. They were alone and desperate to find friends, family or any other survivors from other tribes. If their enemies or predators caught them in the open savanna, it would invite injury or death, even for an experienced warrior, as he was. Exhausted, they staggered toward a huge tree standing in the distance. The women had wrapped the child in soft leopard skin with an eagle feather by his head, as if he was a prince of a tribe.

The child, weary and hungry, whimpered only slightly as he gazed into his mother’s eyes. She lovingly caressed his cheek, trying to comfort the small child. Looking up, she peered into the darkness fearfully, searching for any sign of movement.

The man, spent and bleeding, stood defiant. He proudly carried the only weapon he had used to defend his family. The spear stood six feet tall, topped by a long sharp metal tip stained red with blood.

The previous night, a group of hyenas had attacked the couple at their camp. Though suffering from serious wounds, they managed to escape with their lives. Fatigued from pain and loss of blood, they desperately hoped to find a safe place to rest for the night. Feeling as though they played a cat and mouse game, they had the uncanny feeling of an unseen foe stalking them.

Suddenly, sounds like hysterical laughing split the night air. The relentless hyenas had pursued and finally found them once again. The man quickly turned, his eyes scanning the dark horizon for movement. With a quiet word to his wife and a loving touch to her hand, they turned and hobbled hurriedly toward the protection of the giant tree.

Huge ragged heads with red, unblinking eyes and massive slathering jaws parted the tall grass and sniffed the night air hungrily. Low growls and mewling noises from parched throats and skeletal corpse-like bodies filled the air. Spotting their quarry moving toward a tree, the hyenas quickly fanned out for the ambush.

Out of breath and barely able to stand, the warrior and his wife turned to face the emerging beasts. The woman turned and ran desperately to reach the tall tree and placed the infant onto a large branch that jutted out like an island. High enough to be out of the reach of the ravenous hyenas, she lashed the baby to the branch. Her hand then reached for the small knife she carried at her hip.

The hyenas attacked without warning. Screams and growls filled the night air as they leaped toward their quarry. The man, possessed as if by demons, thrust and slashed at the oncoming horde. Blood spilled on the thirsty ground making their footing wet and slippery.

A beast attacked from behind as if sensing a frontal attack was certain death. The man spun around to meet this new threat, but tripped over the body of a wounded hyena as it snapped at his legs. The woman lunged with her knife and quickly put an end to its savage life. She looked up into the night for her husband and watched as he drew the starving animals further from her. He desperately fought on, a lone hero only the gods would witness. She loved her husband and could not let him fight this lopsided battle alone.

Too many to fight, he soon became overwhelmed. He tripped and fell to the ground and became instantly mobbed by the vicious animals. A particularly nasty beast latched onto his back, pinning him to the ground. With an insane scream of desperation, the woman threw herself into the fray, stabbing and biting like a wild thing, only in the end to succumb to the uneven battle. The sounds of the fight diminished as the beasts slowly slunk off into the night.

The cool night air turned into a hot humid morning. A lone hyena returned to the tree looking for food from last night’s battle. An interesting scent caught his keen senses. His dry, cracked black nose twitched back and forth testing the light gust of wind leading him to the large tree. The sound of a crying baby caught his sizable ears as he looked up toward the large branch.

Pacing back and forth with eager anticipation, he leapt for the blanket in the tree. Barely catching the corner, he exposed a small leg. With the second leap, the snapping jaws closed on the dangling leg, ripping the flesh to the bone. The baby screamed in agony as the branch shook from the force of the impact. Tasting blood excited the hyena. Running in circles under the tree to gain some momentum, he gathered his legs underneath him for the final leap.

The hyena’s full attention was on the defenseless child and he did not notice the Watinkee warriors running toward the tree. As his jaws started to close on the small dangling foot, the spear found its mark in his chest. The hyena felt a blast of pain before he fell to the ground, narrowly missing the exposed leg. His breathing came in gasps as he snapped at the massive spear embedded in his chest. As his eyes dimmed, a Watinkee warrior placed his foot on his head and yanked the spear from his body.

Reaching up, the warrior carefully dislodged the small infant from the branch. Strange, he thought, as he looked into the eyes of the infant that were as grey as the clouds in the sky and with hair as white as an old man’s beard.

Dread rippled through the band of warriors as they searched for signs of his mother and father. They saw from the tracks and half-eaten corpses of some of the hyena that a great battle had taken place. A few hundred yards away the gristly remains of the two proud warriors lay together. Scattered around them like leaves in a forest, were several dead hyenas. Beside the warriors was a spear of great artisanship with a golden eagle feather attached to it. This they took to give to the boy when he grew up as a reminder of how his parents sacrificed their lives for him.

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Eighteen years later a cargo ship with four large triangular sails was heading around the coast of Africa. The captain was a small, rotund man with eyes the color of jade and bright red hair that hung to his shoulders. His long flowing beard, streaked with grey and braided into two strands, tucked into his belt that held a ponderous belly.

He frowned at what he saw as his teeth ground into the small tobacco pipe, furiously puffing the dark red ember. Smoke circled his head clinging to his brow like a fluffy hat before disappearing into the air.

His bright green eyes gazed across the ocean at large rolling black clouds that grew and swelled with every passing moment. The large rectangular sails flapped listlessly against the masts. The still ocean, unusually calm, spelled trouble.

In the cargo bay was the treasure the captain was trying to protect. A stallion with unusual large spots marking his body kicked at the stall, as if sensing the impending storm. A mare and her 3-year-old colt whinnied excitedly, aware of the stallion’s uneasiness.

The King of Spain had given Captain Morgan the task of transporting the highly prized stallion, mare and her colt around the Cape of Good Hope to South Africa. The horses were a gift to the governor of the colony.

A raindrop splashed on Captain Morgan’s bulbous red nose. At that moment, he awoke from his reverie. The wind howled from the heavens and seemed to assail him from all directions at once. Tearing his hat from his head and flinging his ruffled shirt wide open, the gale pummeled his burly chest and portly stomach like a boxer in a ring.

Captain Morgan pointed a stubby finger at the first mate, yelling at the top of his lungs, Man the sails! Turn to starboard! ALL HANDS ON DECK! The wind tore the words from his mouth and they were almost lost in the torrent of rain and thunder.

The swarthy man standing next to him, terrified at the suddenness of the storm, turned to relay the orders to the crew. At that moment, a giant wave crashed into the ship and like a giant fist drove the man into the mast with the force of a hammer on an anvil. Like grasping fingers the wave swirled and receded, slowly dragging his lifeless, broken body overboard to disappear forever into the dark depths.

The crew scrambled out of their quarters, rushing to their assigned tasks. All were experienced crewmen and they knew this was no ordinary storm. Praying to their pagan gods, they worked side by side to steady the tossing ship and knew that it would take extraordinary effort and all of their skills. Struggling against the wrath of the storm, each man desperately tried to do the work of two. The deafening noise of the thunder drowned out their frantic screams of terror. Jagged streaks of lightening lit up the sky for only fractions of an instant, but were enough for the men to see fear clearly etched on each of their faces.

The second mate clutched the wheel of the ship with a vise-like grip as wave after wave of salt water pounded over him. He fought desperately to keep the ship upright. His strength was waning and his muscles became rigid with fatigue. He slowly began to lose the battle with the storm as his fingers loosened and slid off the wheel.

The captain grabbed a skinny man with terror-filled eyes and a wispy beard plastered to his pointed chin. Grimacing against the onslaught, Captain Morgan’s two front gold teeth reflected the man’s fear as he bellowed, Get down to the hold. Throw out anything of weight that we don’t need. Go now. Hurry! Take whoever you can find to help!

The man screamed at two stalwart men as he headed toward the hold. Working furiously, they tied down the main mast with ropes already slick with blood from their frantic hands. The three crewmembers staggered through the swinging doors like drunken sailors after a night of revelry. Stumbling down the stairs, the three men were tossed about like rag dolls while fighting the listing ship.

The horses, mad with terror, shrieked ear-piercing squeals, kicking their stalls to break free. The ship groaned and creaked, testing the strength of the seams and rivets. Muscles strained with desperate urgency as the men dragged crate after crate through the hold and unceremoniously tossed them in the churning ocean. Water cascaded and funneled down the slippery steps making the work harder still. The ankle-deep water rose quickly around their legs in frothy swirls threatening to drown the exhausted crewmen.

The ocean tossed the ship around like a cork in a bottle. Wind whistled through portholes, sounding like drowning seamen screaming defiant curses. Bolts of lightning split the sky in a jagged cadence around the ship. The masts rocked back and forth, straining to stay upright, dodging the electrically charged blue streaks that seemed to get closer with every strike.

Captain Morgan glared fiercely into the face of the storm. Rain pelted his heaving chest and winds tore at his body, trying to dislodge him from his perch on the deck. He raised a beefy, scarred fist and shook it furiously to the heavens.

He bellowed, Why are you taking this ship from me? I pray to thee every night. I now curse you then and am damned!

Suddenly, as if the gods had heard, it became eerily calm. The rain fell more softly and the ocean seemed to lay in wait. All eyes looked skyward. A low rumble of thunder echoed in the rolling black mass of clouds. The air felt supercharged as hairs stood up on the crew’s skin like tiny armies of soldiers.

Lightning split the darkness, turning night into day. It snaked its way down seemingly in slow motion toward the swaying mast like a finger chastising a child. Eyes looked on in horror as the white light found its mark and shattered the mast into a thousand pieces.

Splinters showered down among the men, striking their exposed skin and creating fresh cuts. Blue fire erupted from the broken remains of the mast, setting the sails ablaze. The ship floundered like a giant wounded bird. The storm’s fury continued to grow with frightening strength. The men knew then that the ship was lost but they continued to fight valiantly on against all hope.

Captain Morgan worked desperately with his men, trying to save the sinking ship. Leaks appeared as rivets started to pop. Boards protested under the tremendous strain as pressure from the pounding storm grew to a crescendo. The ship seemed to groan and scream, reminiscent of a tortured soul gasping for its last breath.

A large hole appeared in the hull, as the ocean punched through like a giant fist, ripping through the boards and washing them away. The damage was too great for the ship to sustain.

Despite the best efforts of the crew, the ship, with a final shudder, split apart. The raging sea tossed the crew around like rag dolls as they descended down into their watery grave. Lifeless eyes stared upward as their bodies slowly sank to their final resting place.

The horses, suddenly freed from their confines in the bowels of the ship, bobbed to the surface. Terribly confused and distressed, they swam furiously to save their lives. Despite their best efforts, they too were slowly losing the battle to the violent sea.

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A tall, muscular, bronze-skinned boy stood beneath a cliff overhang, gazing over the hot burning sand at the still waters of the ocean. He was a head taller than his fellow tribesmen were and had white curly hair that hung down his broad back in waves. His features were those of his mother, a slave from a distant land. With high cheekbones and almond shaped eyes that smoldered with intelligence, he stood apart from the rest of his tribe.

The sky was blue with not a cloud anywhere. The breeze was very slight, cooling the sheen of sweat off his brow. His muscular chest rose and fell easily as he breathed in the air, smelling the impending storm. He shifted his broad shoulders slightly to look for shelter. This was his first hunt in his quest to become a warrior. He carried a six-foot spear topped by a razor sharp steel tip, adorned with an eagle feather. He had fallen behind the hunting party, and now was on his own.

Babtoo looked with disdain at the twisted foot that caused his delay. The elder members of his tribe had told him that as a small child hyenas had twice attacked his family. The first attack had caused grave injuries to his parents. Overwhelmed by the second assault, they had sacrificed their lives to save his. The elders also told Babtoo how a Watinkee search party had found him still lashed to the branch where his mother had left him and how they rescued him from the hyena that injured his foot.

During his youth, the crooked foot had caused Babtoo to be much slower in games compared with the other young warriors; however, his quick wit and strength often saved him from defeat. Growing up without parents and having only a few friends in the Watinkee tribe had tested Babtoo’s character and steeled his determination.

Knowing his physical limitations, the boys of the tribe had often played cruel tricks on him. The spirited Babtoo quickly learned that no one would shelter or protect him. These were lessons that only hardened his resolve to prevail. He became smarter and more innovative, often reversing the tricks played on him by his insensitive tribesmen. His skills were honed and very acute, alerting him to danger.

The tribe’s shaman had looked after Babtoo during his youth and had treated him as a son. A group of warriors known as the Mautuks had killed the shaman’s own son in a raid and so the child was a welcome addition to their family. The Mautuks were an ancient enemy of the Watinkee tribesmen that lived in the jungles of Africa.

The shaman, whose name was Wattus, and his wife had been excited to raise this unusual looking boy. After examining the spear found with the boy, Wattus had known that this child was far from ordinary. Would his leg ever heal enough for him to fulfill his destiny, he had wondered. Wattus had taken destiny bones and after rattling them in the palm of his hand, had thrown them on the sacred shield. He gasped when he had seen what the bones revealed. He and his wife died shortly after, never telling anybody what he had seen.

Looking up at the darkening sky, Babtoo felt the heavy hot air and the sudden stillness of nature around him. He knew something menacing was on the way and had to find shelter. Scanning the landscape with his sharp eyes, he found what he was looking for. In the distance, overlooking a shallow inlet, the dark opening of a large cave beckoned him. He hurriedly limped toward it hoping it would be deep enough to shelter him from the impending storm. The cave Babtoo discovered opened into a shallow inlet, surrounded by jagged rocks that had stood for a millennium as if ancient warriors guarded the entrance. The ocean was dark and restless, pounding the stone guardians with increasing fury. White, frothy caps appeared as the waves reached with outstretched fingers, clawing further onto the sandy beach.

Darkness quickly approached as the storm neared the shore. Streaks of lightning illuminated the beach, helping the struggling Babtoo find the cave’s well-camouflaged entrance. The howling of the wind soon rose to a deafening roar. He had barely entered the cave when huge raindrops splattered across the beach with such force that miniature craters pockmarked the sand.

Babtoo’s feet bled from shell fragments scattered on the beach. He lurched into the cave entrance, tripping on driftwood hidden in the sand. The pungent odor of rotting seaweed assailed his nose as he picked himself up off the ground. Standing up, he brushed the sand and dirt off his clothes and took in his surroundings.

The cave was dark and damp from the tides. As his eyes adjusted to the darkness, he saw that farther back the cavern opened up into a giant, domed grotto. Through several crevices high in its rocky ceiling, streams of dim light infiltrated the area below, giving it an eerie appearance. The light was enough to enable Babtoo to see the enormous amount of driftwood that had accumulated from storms of years past. He picked up a small amount of dry wood and started a fire to ward off the damp cold.

Babtoo had learned long ago how to work quickly with his